


Prankster's Gambit

by dethdonut



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain, dubcon wg, fat dave, fat kink, rapid wg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4176498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dethdonut/pseuds/dethdonut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries to pull an ill thought out, if not cruel, prank on Dave. However, Dave doesn't mind ...and in fact, the whole ordeal helps John find a new kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prankster's Gambit

**Author's Note:**

> Old, old fic I wrote for a prize years ago. Figured I'd throw it up here.

It was just a prank. But wow, did it get out of control.

It was simple, really: innocently bring home some milkshakes – "from Mickey-D's" you tell him, and yours was, anyway – except Dave's was a special concoction you'd whipped up, a type of protein shake. This'll be great, you thought. Dave would drink it up, bloat like a balloon, and freak out. You would laugh and reveal your mischievous plan, he would be grumpy for a while but eventually get over it, and that would be that. Prankster's gambit acquired and no harm, no foul.

Except that's not quite how it went. Dave did drink it, and sure enough he did gain some weight – a noticeable amount compared to his usual pudgy self, some new padding on his thighs and hips and stomach. You knew that if it were you, you'd be worried about the almost overnight change. Dave wasn't, though. Dave didn't even seem to notice. So, okay, maybe it wasn't quite enough? Dave had always been sort of soft, so maybe he was just used to having chub and a more significant change would be necessary. You mixed up another shake and innocently mentioned that you'd gotten one while you were out and hadn't been able to finish, and would Dave want the rest of it? Sure enough, he'd made a comment about how there was a lot left and then gulped it down.

So here you are, a day later. You pass by the bedroom on your way to the kitchen, and find Dave standing in front of the floor length mirror in only his boxers. You backtrack and peek from behind the open door.

Dave runs his fingers over his exposed middle, the once pudgy, small belly now expanded and hanging over the waist band of his boxers; his creamy, freckled tummy wobbles as he moves and he smirks, almost amused. His boxers themselves are tight, and Dave turns to view his behind, the fabric straining over his plush ass, which has doubled in width in just a few days. The hem of the garment is digging into his plump thighs, now touching, and Dave prods at the extra fat, achieving a jiggle in doing so. You would comment, make a light hearted remark (time to go clothes shopping, Dave?), but your throat closes, watching your boyfriend poke and grab at the new inches of fat clinging to his once chubby body. Chubby is long gone and Dave doesn't seem fazed at all.

You continue in aiding your boyfriend's gain. You tell yourself it's for the prank, because you can't stop now; you have to get a reaction out of him, even if he has to double in size to make it happen. Just the thought of it makes your mouth dry and your hands twitchy. Protein shakes aren't cutting it, though, and you know Dave will become suspicious. A quick trip to the nutrition store down the street and you pick up a case of protein powder; a weight gain supplement. You smirk mischievously; you're simply the best prankster there is.

A day later, and you set your plan in motion.

"Something smells like pancakes," Dave greets as he rounds into the kitchen, dressed in pajamas; they're his largest, you know, but the once baggy t-shirt is tight, revealing a slice of the overhang over his stomach. You try not to stare.

"Probably because I'm making pancakes," you reply, a second too late in your delivery. Dave doesn't seem to notice and peeks over your shoulder as you flip the last pancake onto a platter. He makes a noise in his throat as he moves to the kitchen table and takes a seat; he looks much more cramped in it than usual.

You set the platter of pancakes practically before him and sit across from him, grabbing an apple from the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table. Dave raises an eyebrow at you. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you made these just for me."

You choke on your first bite, but cough and manage to spit, "I'm just not in the mood for a heavy breakfast. And if I didn't cook for you, you'd starve."

"I'm perfectly capable of cooking," Dave retorts while plopping a high stack of pancakes onto his plate, "our microwave is my witness."

"Nuking chicken nuggets isn't 'cooking'," you sigh, but smile; Dave's long history of sporadic and unhealthy meal choices could be of use to you- for your prank, you mean. "How are they, by the way?"

Dave's mouth is stuffed, but he flashes a thumbs up in response. A good sign, considering you mixed a healthy amount of protein powder into the batter, which means it's undetectable. Dave will have no idea.

The gain is noticeable and quick. The next day Dave is fighting with his clothes, and opts for his largest pair of sweat pants and a baggy hoodie (well, used to be); he makes a comment before leaving he's going to pick up some stuff and he'll be back in time for lunch. He returns with a bag of new clothing. 

"New wardrobe?" you comment, just a hint of deviousness in your voice.

He shrugs, placing the bag at the foot of the staircase leading to the bedroom. "Figured it was time for a change."

This is frustrating. You're certain Dave's put on a considerable amount of weight, and yet he seems almost content with himself; what's the point of this if he doesn't care? Except, he will.

You continue with your efforts, sneaking the protein powder into everything you possibly can. You already liked to bake, so when you start to make a little more than usual, Dave doesn't question it; he also doesn't question why you never seem to eat the cakes and cupcakes and cookies and pies you've baked up, since that's not unusual for you, either. He comments, once or twice, mentions that he can't believe you aren't into baked goods even when they're this goddamn good, but mostly he makes a lot of joking quips about how Betty Crocker would be pleased, young padawan. You make a face every time, but you can't get too cantankerous about it. Your plan is still working, so you're willing to overlook a remark or two about the damn Batterwitch.

He continues to grow, and every time he jumps up a few pounds you think that surely he'll react now, surely he'll do something more than jiggle his huge belly or stare at his wide backside in the mirror. You're wrong every time. He always just smirks and puts on a little private show for himself, as if he's amused and even pleased, and if he cares that he's continuing to outgrow his new clothes then he isn't showing it.

Coming home from work after two weeks or so of this, you spot Dave headed towards the staircase near the foyer and do a double take. It's been a few days since Dave went shopping for new clothes, but they're tiny on him. Already. That tee and pair of jeans fit him only days ago, you're sure of it, but now they look uncomfortably tight. You gulp, and he makes for the first step, then the next, ascending slowly. 

Dave's face has noticeably rounded out, his cheeks puffy and tinged with a blush from overexertion, dipping down to his rolled, thick neck. His t-shirt, one that should drape around his bulk, is now tight and conforming, stretched over his chest and cupping his splayed breasts. His arms, now quite fat, look squeezed by his shirt's sleeves, and you notice angry red marks where the fabric is tight. His shirt is almost laughable where it curves over his stomach, but falls short to completely cover it; the hem barely hangs past his deep belly button, only squeezing out the large overhang of his belly. You notice that the seams of his jeans have started to split at his thighs; his thick limbs and belly quiver and wobble as he moves. Your gaze lingers and your mind begins to wander, and then you realize Dave is talking to you.

"Hello? Earth to Egbert? Are you ogling so hard your brain has melted?" You notice Dave is stopped on the staircase, nearly halfway up but leaning against the wall. His doughy side nearly reaches the parallel wall, and if he were to stand in the middle of the step you're sure his wide hips would brush the hand railings. You're about to ask what's the matter when you hear his soft panting; he's out of breath.

"Need a hand?" you ask, a little too eager. Dave makes a face, glancing up the stairs and thinking for a moment. Then he nods.

"I guess."

You zip over to the stairwell, climbing the stairs below Dave with an ease that he hadn't quite managed. He chuckles as you waste no time in tucking an arm under his, and you grip on to his chubby side as though you could support his weight. There's no chance of that, of course; he's far too heavy even for you, and you've always been pretty strong. Even pressed against his side you feel cramped in the stairwell; Dave takes up a lot of room. You wonder what it would be like to have his weight on top of you and not just leaning against you- you try to control your quickening breath, and you pointedly stare straight ahead as you help him up, one step at a time.

It takes you a minute, but you both reach the top with some effort. When you try to slide away from Dave, though, he hangs on with the arm draped around your shoulders. You look at him, and between the quiver of his double chin and the bright red of his cheeks and the way his eyes are heavy-lidded as he pants with exhaustion, your heart begins to race and your face flushes. 

"Uh?" you say dumbly, and he smirks.

"Listen, John," he says, and you are listening. You don't think you could pay attention to anything or anyone other than him right now if you tried. "I've noticed you've been staring a whole hell of a lot. When you gonna finally do something about it?"

You sputter, a little breathless yourself from supporting your boyfriend's bulk, but cover it with an overly forced, nervous laugh. "What, I'm not allowed to sneak a peek at my boyfriend anymore?"

Dave leans closer, his nose nearly brushing your own and you're suddenly aware how much he smells like cinnamon and sugar; he must have dug into the pan of cinnamon rolls you prepared earlier. He quirks an eyebrow. "Less of a peek and more of a pointed stare." But he backs off, removing his arm and taking a step back.

You realize too late that he's right. Dave hasn't brought it up again, two days later when you're cooking dinner, but you stop to think, pausing as you pour a spoonful of protein powder into the curry mixture you have simmering. Despite knowing Dave just isn't going to budge about his gain, you keep aiding him and you hesitate, suddenly aware of this. For the moment you shrug it off, not thinking much of it. You call Dave, who's sitting in the living room, for dinner and hear the couch groan with relief as he stands up. Something twitches in your lower abdomen but you focus on stirring.

He ambles into the kitchen, a little breathless, but takes a seat at his usual spot at the dining table. You notice in just two days time his weight has spiked again, his once baggy shirt now a joke, the seams at his armpits splitting and the hem barely covering his stomach at all; you wonder why he even bothered with it but your mouth goes dry as your eyes trail down every detail. His belly, now rolled at his belly button, covers his lap and nearly reaches his knees. Your breath hitches.

You glance back up, feeling eyes on you and you're right- Dave's been watching you the entire time, a slight smirk pulling at his pudgy lips. You don't say anything, no excuse coming to mind, so you turn and focus instead on the stove and turn off the heat, and bring the pot to the table. Dave reaches to start portioning onto his plate, and you don't stop him as you prepare a bowl of rice and slide it almost next to Dave; he starts shoveling spoonfuls from that as well.

The first few minutes of the meal are quiet besides Dave's hums of approval and scrapes of his spoon hitting the plate, and after he's done with his first serving, he helps himself to another, and another after that. This was to be expected though, considering you had noticed his appetite grow along with the rest of him; you're sure he'll practically clean both bowls, but he pauses after his third helping.

"Could you…" he trails off, picking up his empty glass; he must've drained it somewhere in the midst of the meal.

You nod quickly, taking it from him, and scrape the chair a little too loudly as you push away from the table. Dave returns to filling his plate as you open the refrigerator and while he's distracted, you pour him a glass of milk and take out the container of protein supplement you have stashed away behind the toaster. You don't notice you're shaking until you begin to pour a spoonful of powder in and accidentally dump a larger amount you had planned to give. "Shit."

"You alright?" Dave asks, hesitating in spooning the rest of the bowl's contents onto his plate. There's a hint of a smirk on his face as he offers, "Need help?"

You snort, recovering from your slip up, and quickly shove the container back to its hiding spot and return the milk to the fridge. You enthusiastically hand his cup back. "Ha-ha, coming from the guy who can't get up without losing his breath."

"You're still not complaining, though," Dave murmurs before pressing his lips to the edge of his glass, swiftly drinking its contents; he doesn't stop though, not even bothering in taking a breath between gulps, completely draining it as if it's second nature. You shift uncomfortably in your seat when he finishes and wipes the dribble of milk that's crawling down his chin with his sleeve.

There's a second after he speaks, and you fail in snipping a comment back. Your attention is now focused on Dave continuing his meal- you watch, his neck creasing as he takes a bite, his tongue darting to the corner of his mouth to lick his lips, and now you're all too aware that well fuck, he's right. Still, you think maybe he's let the subject drop, and you've almost let your guard down when he looks up from his meal to raise an eyebrow at you.

"So, you ever gonna tell me what that powder you've been putting in everything is?" He sounds a bit bemused but otherwise calm in his inquiry. You, on the other hand, feel your heart drop into your stomach.

"I- well-"

"I'm not mad or anything," he continues with a shrug, and he takes another bite of his food as if to emphasize his point. "Just curious, since you seem to be diggin' my new lumps and I figured that stuff had to have something to do with that."

You bite nervously at your lower lip. At the mention of his "lumps," you find yourself turning your gaze involuntarily to his rolling double chin and sizable belly, and he laughs.

"Alright, John, I get it. You're shy, or whatever, and that's cool. But if you keep lookin' at me like I'm the choicest piece of ass you've ever seen, and you keep not doing anything about it, I'm gonna flip out. Just saying. Either you're gonna fuck me or you aren't." He licks his lips and then finishes off his food in a few more quick, large gulps.

You nod slowly; you haven't quite processed this in its entirety yet. As it sinks in, you know your face is growing redder and redder, and Dave is just watching and waiting. There's some milk smudged at the corner of his mouth, and his eyebrows are raised expectantly. You gulp and dumbly nod again.

"Well?" he says, and shakily you rise to your feet, making your way over to him. "What do you have to say?"

"I think," you begin, though you pause before continuing to gather your thoughts and tame your nerves. "I think you are… really, really attractive. And I… god, I really want to fuck you."

"Duh."

It takes all of two seconds for you to reach for his shoulders, your fingers gripping and sinking into the flab of his upper arms, and you push him back in his chair; Dave is surprised for a moment, but bounces right back with leaning up to meet your lips as you crane your head down. Your teeth clatter against his and the fact that both of you are ungraceful kissers becomes very clear, but you only push further and part your lips. Dave tastes like spice and it's not the sexiest thing, but you can feel him shake and jiggle under you, and it makes you burn warmly. 

When you press closer, practically inches away from crawling on top of him, you realize how hasty you've been and part from his lips, stumbling to straighten your stature. "S-sorry, uh-"

Dave grunts, "Dude, finish what you've started," and grabs your t-shirt collar to bring you back down to his level and kisses you again.

You know where this is heading, your lips very close to moving away from Dave's mouth and to the side of his thick neck, and you separate again, breathing. "Should we move- couch or bed?"

He gives you a look, halfway between perplexed and are you kidding?, and you realize the chore it is for him to get up stairs. You'd be happy to help him up, having Dave breathless under you before even making it to the bed, but you laugh nervously and answer yourself. "Couch, then."

Dave's panting anyways by the time you help him stand up and shove him into the living room, and he falls back onto the couch; the cushions whine under his weight and he smirks between gulping for air. You stand, watching and trying to decide where to climb on top of him, but it's no secret by now your boyfriend takes up a lot of space, and you aren't sure if there's even room on the couch to straddle him. You squeeze your way in anyway, pressing your inner thighs against his plush sides, and you lean over him to place your palms against the cushion on either side of his head to help with balance. You feel his soft, protruding stomach against your own flat one, and his warmth surrounds you as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer still.

His breathing is quick and labored in between sloppy kisses, and with his arms holding you in place you're able to rove your hands across his body instead of leaning on them for balance. Dave's shirt had already been riding up to reveal a stretch of his milky stomach, and now your fingers knead at the skin and soft fat there, pushing the hem up higher until only his supple breasts are hidden beneath cloth. You eagerly squeeze at his thighs and tease at his breasts, and when you begin to grind your hips against his, he moves with you as best he can.

The sensation is warm and building and you break away from his kisses to press your face against the rolls of his neck. "You're… really big, Dave…" you breathe, your lips ghosting over his fat flesh. "You sure you're not mad?"

"Nah," Dave half laughs, half pants and squirms under your touch. "Just curious, r-really."

You watch him, his eyes half lidded and face flushed, trying to keep up with your pressing hips and you swallow. "About…" you begin to say, but trail off, you mind completely off in a different place, feeling heated and mostly jumbled.

Dave exhales loudly and you're not sure if it's from exasperation or just his labored breathing. His arms move off your neck suddenly, but his hands rest on your shoulders to keep you still. He's trying to get the both of you to focus and it's only marginally working. "Just, if you liked me, like, big, you could've just said something, I mean damn I don't mind but…"

"Oh." You feel kinda stupid. "It was a prank, at first at least, but uh… I guess you got me in the end, huh? Heh…"

He blinks, and you can tell the words have sunk in when he sighs and shakes his head. "You're a fucking dork, John."

"Hey, if you knew the whole time you could've said something too!"

Dave shrugs, smiling as he moves his arms again, but this time around your waist. "Trust me, it was more fun watching you squirm." He tries to move his face to yours and presses his nose to your cheek. "Now are you finally going to do something about it?"

You inhale slowly, closing your eyes as you feel warm and tingly under Dave's heavy arms and pressing into his body, and you nod. "Don't have to ask me twice."


End file.
